My niece turned eighteen today. It feels like the blink of an eye since she was born, and I held her for the first time, despite many years of refusing to hold babies (mostly because I have the dropsies, and it was inconceivable that someone would trust me with something so delicate).

Now, she’s a wonderful young woman, intelligent and kind, hard-working and with an appreciation of music and obscure geek shit that rivals my own (though she’s hardly a geek, and she won’t take any of my recommendations… apparently, I am old and therefore, inherently uncool).

That’s cool.

I’m good with uncool. As long as my nieces think I’m fun and a decent person, I could care less what else they think.

Happy birthday, kid.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 2093 words, novel: Father Lightning